Transfigured Night With a Strange Communion
by Marguerite1
Summary: After "18th and Potomac," a gathering to say goodbye.


**TRANSFIGURED NIGHT WITH A STRANGE COMMUNION**

Classification: Post-ep for "18th and Potomac"   
Summary: "Leo could taste the subtle flavor of oatmeal. It would be the woman's ghostly   
visitation to him forever." 

*** 

He'd wept as he watched his best friend kneel down in prayer. He'd consoled the   
young man who still stood in dry-eyed shock with his hand on the telephone. He'd   
made the necessary calls and arrangements. He'd resisted taking a drink. 

Now he had to tell everyone else. 

"What's next?" the President was always asking him, but tonight he truly had no   
way of knowing. One tragedy atop another, Job in the White House. Endless. 

His back ached and he walked like an old man. When he caught sight of himself in   
the reflection from the patio window, he winced. The milky distortion of the   
glass was unflattering, merciless. He was indeed an old man tonight, probably   
the next to go if no more gunshots were fired or drunks got behind the wheel.   
Drunks like him. Drunks like the one who killed Mrs. Landingham. 

It was a new car, Bartlet had told him, the first new car she'd ever driven. And   
she died coming back to the White House so that he could tell her that he'd   
deceived her right along with the rest of the world. 

"It's not your fault," Leo had said. 

He knew better. He knew, in the chamber of his heart that held this most   
cherished of friends, that Bartlet would blame himself until his dying day. 

Leo shuffled into his office, too weary to lift his feet. Sam was there, leaning   
against the bookcase with his glasses dangling from his fingers. 

Sam was still fragile from having yet another father figure betray his trust.   
"You can only go to that well so often, Mr. President," Leo had said to Bartlett   
after Sam had been told about the M.S. "Sam isn't bottomless." But the pain in   
his eyes was depthless and full of fear, and Leo was torn between wanting to   
embrace him and wanting to punch his lights out for being so damn needy. 

C.J. was sitting on the sofa, world-weary but with so much to do that there was   
no time for respite. In her hand was a notebook full of details for the upcoming   
interview and press conference, and she clutched it like a talisman against   
evil. She had the most to lose of any of them, apart from the First Family, but   
if she feared for her future she never spoke of it, at least not to him. Maybe   
to Toby. 

Toby sat beside her. So much softer now that the shock had worn off, and so   
protective of C.J. Almost more worried for her than for the President. Not true,   
not true, he just had different levels of protectiveness. He loved his country,   
loved Leo and Josh and the President who had wounded him so deeply, but it was   
C.J. he guarded with all his considerable might. 

Then there was Josh. The man was twitching in his seat as if his life force were   
trying to break free of his body. Nervous energy that could not be contained,   
only harnessed, and even then by only the thinnest of tethers. "Leo, it's almost   
nine. Can we go?" 

"Not yet." God, he didn't want to do this, didn't ever think that being the   
Chief of Staff would mean breaking so much bad news. Breaking so many hearts. He   
realized that he was leaning against his desk and straightened his spine. Behind   
the rush of blood in his ears, he could hear Mrs. Landingham's voice: "Stand up   
straight in this office, Leo, or no cookies for you." 

"Leo?" C.J.'s eyes were piercing behind her glasses, looking enormous because of   
the smudged makeup that darkened her skin. "Leo, what is it?" 

He looked at each of them, feeling something come loose from deep inside. Sorrow   
spilling out, a hemorrhage of grief. "I'm so sorry to have to tell you this.   
There was an accident tonight on 18th and Potomac." No one moved. No one   
breathed. "A drunk driver ran a light and hit Mrs. Landingham's car. She...she's   
dead." 

"Shit." Toby lowered his head and rubbed his forehead with his hand. "Ah, shit." 

"Charlie took the call. I informed the President, then I called the police. They   
have the driver in custody. They say Mrs. Landingham must've died instantly. She   
didn't suffer." 

Josh blinked. "How is he?" 

Leo glared at him. "He's dancing the Macarena in the Oval Office, Josh, how do   
you think he is?" 

He didn't mean to yell, especially not at this man. Josh studied his fingers,   
swallowing convulsively. 

"Jesus, Leo, don't take it out on Josh," Toby growled. 

"I'm sorry. Josh, I'm sorry." 

"Yeah. It's...yeah." He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and gave Leo a watery   
smile, then turned to Sam. "You gonna be okay?" 

Sam smacked his glasses down on the bookcase, hard enough to rattle the shelves.   
"I just wanna know - when does it end?" His voice came out edgy and rough. "I   
mean, how much of this can we take before someone finally snaps? We're gonna   
have a whole building full of post-traumatic stress victims before the trauma is   
even 'post.' " 

"Sam," C.J. said, casting an imploring look from Sam to Josh. "We can do this.   
We can survive this." 

"How? HOW? I just can't keep going and going like a deranged Energizer bunny   
while fate or life or whatever keeps sucker-punching me in the gut." 

"It's not about you right now, Sam," Leo said, but gently, his voice soothing   
the electricity in the room. "It's about Mrs. Landingham, and the President, and   
the business of running a country the best way we know how." 

"I know. I'm sorry." He looked at Josh and turned up one corner of his mouth.   
"Sorry." 

"It's okay." Josh ran his hands through his rumpled hair. "Have you told the   
staff?" 

"I'm gonna tell Margaret, let her handle it." 

"Start with Donna," Toby said, his voice careful and neutral. "I think she   
should get the assistants together and talk with them." 

Josh shook his head. "Donna's been through enough today." 

There was something behind that conversation. Leo could almost feel static from   
the two men. "Gentlemen, I'm going to tell Margaret because she's my assistant   
and she needs to be told. By me. If all of you want to handle this yourselves,   
then fine. You know your people better than I do. And what're you not telling me   
about Donna?" 

Toby cleared his throat. "She knows." 

"About Mrs. Landingham?" 

About the M.S.," Josh clarified. 

"How?" 

Silence. Leo's gaze was the wrath of an ancient warrior god. He repeated the   
question. 

"How?" 

"Me," said Toby. 

"You." 

"Yeah." 

Leo shook his head, which felt as if it weighed three times as much as the rest   
of his body. "You." 

"Me." 

"Why?" 

There was a beat of silence. Toby spoke in the middle of a sigh. 

"Josh." 

Another beat. 

"Hey. I was told not to tell anyone." Josh's voice was an exercise in   
self-righteousness. Leo hated that tone, knew it meant that Josh was on the edge   
of civility, but he decided to wait the argument out and see where it went. 

"Yes, you were," Toby agreed. "I'm not disputing that. But look at yourself.   
You're a wreck." 

"We're all wrecks." 

"But the rest of us don't have ten-inch scars down our chests, Josh. You think   
we haven't seen the coughing fits? You think we don't know that you put a new   
hole in your belt with a goddamn staple remover?" 

"The three-hole punch has been broken since Easter," Josh said too evenly. "And   
I'm alluringly slim." 

"You're a walking corpse, Josh." 

"Stop it!" C.J.'s hands fluttered alongside her ears. Tears were welling in her   
eyes and she accepted Toby's handkerchief without even looking at it. "I don't   
want to hear about corpses or drunks or coughing fits. I've lost a friend. More   
importantly, the President's lost a friend, and he is gonna need us with him,   
united, not bickering about who's got the short end of the stick when we all   
know that HE has it himself." She sat up straight and nudged Toby's shoulder.   
"Let's straighten out these priorities." 

"Thank you, C.J." Leo walked over and put a hand on her shoulder as he addressed   
Toby. "So is Donna okay?" 

"As okay as the rest of us, I guess," Toby shrugged. 

Sam looked at Toby. "She's not gonna get flustered or weirded out or anything,   
right?" 

"Sam, believe me when I tell you that Donna Moss is the least weirded-out person   
in this building tonight." He put his fingertips together, steepling them just   
below his beard. "When I first found out, I didn't ever ask how he felt, beyond   
wanting to know if it was fatal. Not once. But that was the only question she   
asked me. She asked me, was he in pain. That was her concern. For him." 

C.J. put her hand on his arm. "You know that you cared. How he was feeling." 

"Yeah, but I never asked it. She did. She puts me to shame." 

"Okay, so Donna's on board," Sam said, nodding and putting his glasses back on.   
They were slightly askew from the beating they had taken, and he straightened   
them out while Josh spoke. 

"She's tough, Sam. She held the bowl in the hospital when I was puking from the   
anesthesia. She didn't blink when I needed a bedpan, held my hand when they took   
the stitches out, and never once complained that I smelled like the crap in the   
bottom of the vegetable crisper that's gone liquid." 

"Stop right there," Sam said, twisting his mouth as his face turned sickly   
pale. "I mean it, I'm absolutely gonna toss my cookies." 

"Oh. Cookies." C.J.'s eyes brimmed over. "Mrs. Landingham's cookie jar." 

Leo could taste the subtle flavor of oatmeal. It would be the woman's ghostly   
visitation to him forever. 

"I loved her cookie jar," Josh whispered. "It was like a congressional medal,   
getting one of those cookies." 

Toby's response was grumpier. "I hated that damn jar. She wouldn't ever give me   
a cookie. Never." 

Leo chuckled. "Because you're a grouchy and intractable man, Toby, and there's   
no point wasting sweetness on the desert air." 

"Leo, you wound me." 

"Then my job here is done." Leo squeezed C.J.'s shoulder and nodded toward the   
door. "And I've got another one. I'm gonna go do this thing. I'll come get you   
when it's time to go to the residence." 

He left, feeling the mournful eyes of the staff on him. It weighed him down. 

He forced himself to stand up straight and pick up his feet as he went to   
deliver the news of a fallen comrade. 

*** 

She wandered the halls, trying to reconcile herself to two horrors in the space   
of a single day. "We don't have time to be shocked," Toby had said to her, and   
she had tried to go back to work, back to Josh, but it was just so damn hard. 

And now this. 

She felt in her pocket for the little tortoiseshell clip, the one Mrs.   
Landingham had given her the first week she worked in the White House.   
"Professionals wear their hair above the collar, dear," Mrs. Landingham had told   
her. By the end of the second week Margaret had already succumbed and cut her   
soft red hair into a bob, but Donna resisted. 

Now she checked her reflection in the window as she pulled her long hair into a   
roll at the nape of her neck. She looked gaunt. She looked tired. She looked   
like a reflection of Josh and wondered if assistants took on their boss'   
characteristics the way dogs started to look like their owners. 

"You missed a strand." 

She jumped and whirled around, her hand over her heart. "Oh! Sir!" 

Bartlet's eyes were red-rimmed but he looked composed. "What're you doing out   
here?" 

"I just..." She nodded toward Mrs. Landingham's desk. "Margaret just told me." 

"You okay, Donna?" He took a couple of steps toward her, his head inclined   
upward so that he could look into her eyes. 

She could no more lie to this man than to God. 

"I'm...I'm...It hurts, sir." She heard herself talking too fast, felt her   
eyelids moving out of synch the way they did when she was distressed. "She was   
just here. I can still smell her cologne. I can see the cookies in the jar and   
they're still fresh, but she's gone." 

"I know, Donna. I know." 

"But that's not the worst of it. She was your friend. She worked for you for,   
what, almost twenty years, and now that you need every one of your friends more   
than ever..." 

He narrowed his eyes at her and she felt her heart sticking in her throat. "Why   
do I need my friends more than ever?" 

"Because of the...the thing. Sagittarius." 

He grimaced. 

"Josh Lyman has a big damn mouth." 

"Yes, sir, he does, but it was Toby who told me. I think he was worried about   
Josh. I'm the only one who knows. Besides, you know, the senior staff." 

"Ah." She felt a wave of compassion for him as he looked away from her, toward   
the empty desk, this noble man suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "So...how angry   
are you?" 

"At whom?" 

His laughter was a relief. "Only you would ask that question. At me. Who else   
would you be mad at?" 

"I'm not mad at you, sir. I'm...afraid for you, and sad for you. I'm mad that   
all I can hear in my head is the car crash, and I can't remember what her voice   
sounded like, and it's driving me crazy that I can't." She paused, needing to   
change the timbre of her voice. "I'm not mad at Josh for not telling me because   
he wasn't supposed to, although that wouldn't have stopped him in the long run.   
But I'm maybe a little mad at God." 

"At God? Why?" 

"I'm not sure. Lots of things, I guess - letting you have this illness, or   
letting Mrs. Landingham die." She shook her head. It ached with the movement.   
"But then, it's stupid to be angry at God, isn't it?" 

"I wouldn't say stupid, Donna." He leaned against the desk and looked at her   
with mild, gentle eyes. "It's part of being human, not to understand all of what   
happens in the world. Sometimes you have to think of reasons not to be angry at   
God." 

She nodded and let him continue. His voice was soothing. 

"I was furious when those skinhead bastards shot at Zoe and Charlie. I was glad   
to take their bullet, no question about that. Any father would. But what drove   
me crazy was the other people. The woman who was just standing in the crowd. Ron   
Butterfield, who was just doing his job. And Josh." He rubbed his eyes and   
tilted his head back, his eyes focused on the ceiling. "That was the one I   
couldn't wrap my brain around. If anyone should've had a bullet in his heart, it   
should've been me." 

"But Josh recovered, sir. He came back to me...us..." She felt heat rising in   
her face and leaned over, wishing that her hair were loose so that she could use   
it as a blonde veil. Oh, please, not this, not now, she thought as embarrassment   
made her light-headed. 

But the President surprised her as he often did, standing in front of her and   
putting two fingers under her chin until her eyes were level with his. "You're   
right, Donna. He came back to you and because of you, and for that - I thank God   
every day." 

Tears filled her eyes and clogged her throat. "I understand, sir." 

"Good. Now we can work on this." His fingers moved away and he indicated Mrs.   
Landingham's vacant place. "We're going to have to find something to thank God   
for, you and I, and we need each other's help." 

She gave him a tired smile as she tried to recall a particular feeling. "I think   
I know," she whispered. "Do you want me to tell you?" 

"I can't remember a time, in the three years I've known you, when you held back   
a single opinion. Fire away." 

She laughed, the unexpected sound ringing through the empty office. "Okay. I was   
remembering the night Josh was shot. Actually, the next day, when the surgery   
was over and they said he might be out of the woods. That's a weird expression,   
isn't it, 'out of the woods?' Do you know..." 

"As a matter of fact, I do, but I don't have much time, Donna, so if you could   
cut to the chase?" 

"Anyway, I was so happy that I started to cry, and part of that happiness was   
that by the time I had to call his mother, he'd be waking up and she wouldn't   
have to live through what we'd just experienced." She looked at him, knowing how   
sad she must seem. "Mrs. Landingham loved you, Mr. President. And as awful as   
this is, as much as we'll miss her, at least she was spared knowing about your   
illness." 

"And she won't have to see the aftermath of me telling the rest of the world."   
He sighed. "It's a rather extreme way of finding something for which to express   
gratitude." 

"Well, sir, if you think of anything better, please let me know." She felt the   
tears rising again and she blinked them back until her vision swam. "Because I'm   
not sure how much more of this I can take." 

"I've seen what you can take and how well you can take it. You're going to be   
fine." He took her hands in his and squeezed them. "I have to meet them in the   
residence. I'll send Josh down when I'm done. Where will you be?" 

"Next door to the conference room. I'm going...I'm going to get a little rest so   
that I can spell Josh when he needs a break during the night." 

She felt warmed by his smile, but it was his words that sent a flood of emotion   
through her. "It's an honor to have you on my staff - for however long that   
lasts." 

"I'm hoping for four more years, sir." 

"Yes. I think you are, Donna." He released his grip on her hands, nodded at her,   
and strode toward the residence. 

She watched him leave, looking for any sign of awkwardness or pain in his   
movements. He turned around and waved his hand as if to shoo her away. Only when   
she was back in the corridor, away from Mrs. Landingham's desk, did she remove   
the clip and let her hair caress her neck. 

*** 

He opened the door gingerly, grimacing as the hinges squealed in rusty protest.   
It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dimness but he found her in   
a pool of light from the one little lamp in the corner. 

She was lying on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek while the other   
clutched some sort of clip. Her hair cascaded around her face like a blonde   
veil. A pillow had fallen from beneath her head, and even from the doorway Josh   
could see the dark, damp spots where she'd wept into it. 

He remembered a morning a couple of days after he'd been released from the   
hospital, when he'd staggered into the living room on colt-wobbly legs to   
retrieve the book he'd been reading. Donna had been there, lying in just this   
pose on his sofa, holding a pillow stained with the tears she'd never allowed   
him to see. It was too intimate, he'd thought, to see her with her guard let   
down. But he'd stayed there as if rooted to the spot and watched her sleep until   
his body simply wouldn't let him stand any longer. 

His finger rested over his chest, idly rubbing the numb ends of his scar. Where   
would the scars from everything else end up, he wondered. What part of his body   
would be forever marked where Mrs. Landingham had been taken away? 

And if a man ditches his own victory celebration to help you deal with the loss   
of your father, how deep a scar is there when some of your love is excised by   
deceit? 

Not true. Josh walked to the sofa and swiped away the moisture that threatened   
to seep from his tired eyes. "If love can be changed by death or happenstance,   
then nothing in life has meaning." 

Donna's eyes opened. "Josh?" 

"Hey. I'm sorry. I didn't know I was saying that aloud." He sat on his heels,   
reaching out with affectionate grace to push a strand of hair away from her   
cheek. "The President said he talked to you. How're you doing?" 

"I'm fine. Not fine. I don't know." She struggled to a sitting position, leaving   
a space where Josh could sit beside her. 

The cushions were warm from her body, comforting his tired muscles. He sat with   
his legs slightly apart, his hands dangling between his knees, looking down at   
the floor. When he stole a glance upward he could see the hundreds of   
conflicting emotions running across her face. "Donna. Talk to me." 

"I don't know what to say. It's so much. First Toby tells me about the M.S., and   
now - poor Mrs. Landingham!" She tilted her head down so that she could peer   
over at Josh when he met her gaze. "You had a couple of weeks to work out how   
you felt about the first thing before the second one hit. I've been - I don't   
know what you'd call it - whammied twice in one day. It's a lousy feeling,   
Josh." 

"Yeah, gettin' whammied ranks right up there with root canals and IRS audits."   
Donna stared at him. "I'm sorry. I get flippant like that when I'm this upset." 

"I've noticed." She toyed with the cuff of his untidy shirt. "So, how'd it go up   
there?" 

"It went," he said cryptically. No one could know just yet, not even Donna -   
besides, what would be the point of adding to her informational burden just now?   
"I've got to get some stuff together, help C.J. get the information she needs   
for the interviewers..." He glanced at his watch. "Practically tomorrow. I'm   
gonna need a lot of files pulled, Donna. You up for that?" 

"Yeah, I'm good. I slept for a little while." She indicated the pillow, which   
she snatched from the floor and placed, wet side down, on the couch. She was   
blushing. 

"Donna. It's okay." His face fell as he saw her fighting back tears, more tears.   
"Aw, Donna, c'mere, c'mere." He opened his arms and she fell into them, sobbing   
with genuine pain. Her pulse was quick and birdlike beneath his fingertips as he   
rubbed her neck. "It should've come from me. I'm sorry you had to hear it from   
Toby." 

"No, it's all right," she managed to say between hiccoughing gasps for air. "He   
was so kind..." 

"Toby" and "kind" weren't concepts Josh often thought of in one session. 

"He was worried about you," Donna continued just before the sobbing began   
afresh. 

Josh shuddered at the memory of that look on Toby's face, when he saw Josh's   
blood spilling like a fountain over his hands. The way he called out for help,   
the way he pressed his own hands over the wound to stop the flow, all the while   
telling him he was going to be all right, he was going to be fine, never letting   
Josh close his eyes. Toby. 

"I'm gonna be fine. I've got you watching my back, so what could go wrong? You   
might lecture me or harangue me in your inimitable style, but..." He was   
gratified that he made her chuckle, and relieved that the flow of tears seemed   
to be slowing. 

The shriek of the door made them both look up. "It's just me," Sam said, hands   
in the air. "They, uh, sent me to find you. He's got this thing he wants to do.   
Can we come in?" 

"Well, you're in already." 

"Should I go?" Donna asked. 

"No, he wants you here, but you might want to...sit up or something." Sam made   
vague motions in the air. "Or not. Nothing's normal tonight." 

Donna straightened up but Josh kept one hand behind her, rubbing her back in   
small circles. Sam held the door and one by one they entered - C.J. and Toby, in   
some sort of huddle over her notebook, Leo, his expression less haggard than it   
had been earlier, and the President, one hand clasped on Charlie's shoulder   
while the other cradled an object wrapped in a dish towel. 

Josh sprang to his feet and helped Donna rise, keeping one hand in constant,   
gentle contact with her back. "I feel like a kid in a clubhouse." 

"The Sagittarius Club," Bartlet said, and Josh winced. "The First Lady has gone   
to a function and won't be back for a while, so we have exactly the right   
number." He removed the towel to reveal Mrs. Landingham's crystal cookie jar.   
"One of the many important things I learned from Mrs. Landingham was never to   
let anything of value be wasted. Here we have eight of the most beautiful   
oatmeal-raisin cookies on the face of the earth, and they are the last of their   
kind. I simply cannot accept that Mrs. Landingham can go to her final resting   
place with eight perfectly good cookies going to rack and ruin." 

"This is like communion," C.J. muttered to Toby, who poked her in the ribs and   
pointed to the President. 

"I heard you, young lady, and you'll be doing Hail Marys for that one." He   
smiled to himself as he opened the jar and sniffed. "Look, C.J., I'm inhaling.   
Call in the media." 

"We'll be seeing plenty of them, Mr. President," Leo said gently. "What do you   
say we make it just us for tonight?" 

"Well spoken, my friend. Here." Bartlet offered the open jar to Leo, then to   
Toby and C.J. "Charlie, Sam, take one. Donna," and his voice was soft when he   
said her name. "And Josh, if you behave." He took the last one for himself. "To   
Mrs. Landingham," he said, blue eyes shimmering with tears. "And God bless." 

"God bless," seven voices chimed in. As the others took careful bites of their   
cookies, Charlie turned his over and over in his hands as if memorizing its   
texture. 

"What is it?" asked Leo. 

"It's...when I eat this, it'll be gone. Like her." He started to put the cookie   
in his pocket, but Bartlet stopped him. 

"You get crumbs in that suit jacket, you'll be the recipient of an ass-kicking   
from the great beyond. Just eat it. And the first person - and by that I mean   
Josh - who asks, 'got milk?' will be tossed into the rose garden and eaten by   
aphids." 

"Wouldn't dream of it," Josh said, affecting a wounded expression. "Besides,   
this isn't the time." 

"This is exactly the time," Bartlet countered. "I'm going to need all of you,   
because while Mrs. Landingham is indeed with God - and probably telling Him not   
to slurp His coffee - our world is a lesser place because she's no longer in it.   
So I need your humor, Josh. Maybe not first thing in the morning, but I need it.   
I need Toby's plainspoken common sense, C.J.'s quick wit, Charlie's devotion,   
Donna's intuition. Sam - I'd be lost without your words. Well, maybe not lost,   
but slowed down a little." He turned to Leo. "And I need you with me, my   
stronger and smarter brother, making me a better man against my will." 

Josh saw a fierce gleam of pride in Leo's eyes, quickly subdued but present   
nonetheless. He felt Donna's muscles relax against his palm, heard Sam's   
grateful sigh. C.J. wiped her eyes with the handkerchief she'd been holding   
since the meeting in Leo's office. 

And Toby smiled. 

"That was lovely, Mr. President," Donna whispered. Her voice was thick with   
sorrow and she leaned against Josh's hand a little. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome. And now I'm going back to the residence to catch a little   
sleep. I suggest you do the same." 

"I've got papers..." Toby began. 

"I strongly suggest, then. Get some sleep, everybody. There's nothing that won't   
keep until morning." He turned around, taking Charlie by the arm, and walked out   
of the room. C.J. and Sam followed, talking about sharing a cab. 

"I'll be in my office. Sofa," Toby said, jerking his thumb upwards. "Leo, go   
home for a while. I'll call you at five." 

"Four-thirty." 

"Don't push it, Leo." The two men left together, Leo pausing for just a moment   
in the doorway. 

Donna was already back on the couch, her head on the bolster, and Josh was   
putting a blanket over her. "You coming with?" Leo whispered, inclining his head   
toward the door. 

"Nah. I'm good here." 

"Sleep, Josh. Don't just stare and brood. Okay?" 

"Okay. Night." Josh went to the door and locked it, then walked to the second   
sofa. He untangled the blankets and puffed up the pillow, but the discontented   
scowl worked its way across his face until his mouth was pursed in a tight line. 

He went back to where Donna lay fast asleep. 

After he toed off his shoes and removed his tie, Josh carefully moved Donna just   
enough so that he could sit on the sofa with her head in his lap. He made sure   
she was still asleep, then caressed the side of her face with his fingertips.   
Perhaps her peace would spread its sheltering wings over him and let him sleep.   
It would be good to dream of his father and his sister and the extraordinary   
lady who was probably getting them caught up on him right...this...moment... 

And the taste of oatmeal lulled him to sleep. 

*** 

End   


Feedback would make my day at marguerite@swbell.net.   
Back to West Wing. 


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